There was that final note of exhausted patience in Mrs. Silvey's voice which commanded instant obedience. He rose with alacrity. As he mounted the steps, the boys still at liberty scampered away in the fast gathering dusk for a game of "Run, sheep, run," down the tracks and over the grass plots and back yards on the street.
It was nearly six when John came panting into the kitchen.
"What have you been doing, son?" asked his mother as she half turned from the gas stove to smile down at him.
"Oh, talking about Halloween, and what we're going to do, and lots of things. It's going to be peachy."
"Mind, you're not to destroy property or anything like that. Otherwise, you'll have to stay in the house Saturday night."
He yawned with elaborate carelessness. "Just going to blow beans and ring doorbells, same as we did last year. Isn't it supper time? I'm hungry."
"We'll eat as soon as your father gets home, son." She turned to give the creamed potatoes a stir lest they stick to the pan. "Oh, I nearly forgot! There's a letter at your place on the dining-room table. It came in the afternoon mail."
"For me?" Surprise made his voice rise to a funny squeak. "Who from?"
"A young lady, I think."
He dashed into the dining-room and opened the envelope with clumsy fingers. On a diminutive sheet of note paper, decorated at the top with two laughing gnomes, ran an invitation copied from some older person's formula: